


Excuses For Why We Failed At Love

by kw_writes



Series: Just This Once, and Never Again [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: A little Yearning, Angst, Canon Universe, Daddy Kink, F/M, Mild Smut, Not Actually Unrequited Love, One-Sided Relationship, Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love, Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan Manga Spoilers, Vaginal Fingering, Zeke's a smug asshole, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:01:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29136726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kw_writes/pseuds/kw_writes
Summary: Zeke’s been in plenty of wars, but none like the one he encountered when he met you.
Relationships: Zeke Yeager & Reader, Zeke Yeager/Reader
Series: Just This Once, and Never Again [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2128434
Comments: 76
Kudos: 281
Collections: Reread, zeke yaeger





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>   
> [ _Loving you was like going to war; I never came back the same. - Warsan Shire_ ](https://peelsofpoetry.tumblr.com/post/35702152608/excuses-for-why-we-failed-at-love-by-warsan-shire)  
> 

Zeke Yeager had three pet names for you. 

He’d always call you one of the following all the time: angel, pumpkin, and sweetheart. 

_Angel_ was for when he wanted to be really condescending towards you, often punctuating the word at the end of a particularly harsh sentence. To anyone else, it sounded like he was being sweet to you, but you knew better. It was his way of being derisive; just hand-delivered it to **you** in a nicer way. It was almost considerate, on Zeke’s part, and he often said it as if he were softening the blow for you. The condescension almost sounded sweet to you with that little saccharine nickname at the end of his sentences; like it was masking something else underneath. Like he found you adorable, and the derision was directed toward himself for thinking so and not you for being so. 

Then there was pumpkin. _Pumpkin_ was for when he thought you were being silly; or in other words, stupid. It didn’t hold the same weight to it that ‘angel’ did. Angel was for when Zeke _had_ to be smarter than you, had to _feel_ smarter than you. Pumpkin was for when he **knew** he was. 

And sweetheart? Well...that one was still a mystery to you. After all, you could count on both hands how many times (six) he’d said that one to you throughout all your years of knowing him. 

That’s why the moment you heard that the Marley Mid-East War was over, your heart flipped inside out of your chest. You spent most of that night tossing and turning in bed. You could almost hear the train’s wheels screeching into Liberio even though you were miles away from where the train station was. It wasn’t as if you weren’t glad that war was over. You were. You always thought of war as barbaric and senseless. Once you even voiced this to Zeke. Fucked out and tired and well aware of who was beside you in bed, you mumbled against his chest that the whole war against the Eldians was pointless, and _stupid_. And all Zeke did was look down at you with a smile you’d never seen before, then he murmured something along the lines of, “Precisely, pumpkin.” 

You were glad the war was over. But your stomach wasn’t corroding and bubbling with acid over that. Although you couldn’t shake off the thought that this was the beginning of something rather than the end, that wasn’t the reason for the bile building up in your throat. No. You spent the entire night sleepless because you knew—fucking _knew,_ deep within, that Zeke was going to show up on your doorstep as soon as he could. 

You knew that he’d knock on your door eventually, cooing pet names at you from behind the mahogany oak in an effort to lure you to open up for him. You knew the moment you heard just _one_ of those stupid fucking pet names warbling out of his mouth, your body would tremble and hesitate. 

Just like it was doing now. 

“Can you open the door, pumpkin?” Zeke drawled out as if he were bored of the exchange between the two of you already. 

“No, fuck off.” 

You could hear him laughing behind the door as he said your name. 

“It’s been four years.” 

“Exactly. So fuck off,” you chewed your words out, hoping they’d sound like venom.

Another laugh, and you could hear a pat on the door as if he were leaning against it with one hand. He paused. 

“Did you at least receive my letters?” 

Your eyes flitted to your bedroom door. 

Over the last four years, Zeke had sent you enough letters to take up the entirety of the space underneath your bed. They often spoke about nothing too important. He’d talk to you about his day, the woes of war, and sometimes—you assumed when he was tired, injured, or on the verge of death—he’d tell you that he missed you. Mostly though, it was Zeke venting to you about what he saw. He wasn’t stupid enough to send you details about the war, directly. Instead, he’d color images for you by relating it to a game of baseball. When people on their team struck out, you knew someone died. When he made a “winning pitch”, you knew they were successful, and it was because of him. You read every single one of those stupid fucking letters. But you cherished none more than the twenty letters that went on and on about how much he missed you. You thought that if you read those ones in particular more than once, that you’d be able to find something new. That somewhere beneath the ink, underneath the chicken scratch handwriting and messy scrawls on whatever paper he could find, that Zeke was telling you something so much more than “I miss you.” 

You hesitated. 

“Why are you here, Zeke?” you sighed against the door, your will breaking and bending the way it always did in his presence. 

“Because it’s been four years,” Zeke said, voice full of what sounded like frustration as he forgoed the pet name this time and said your name again. 

You could hear him shuffling around as if he were thinking about leaving. Then he patted the door again and spoke. 

“I just want to see you, sweetheart. That’s it. Then I’ll go.” 

That made it seven times now. And at the sound of the pet name, you could feel your traitorous body reaching out for the door handle. It was pathetic how easily you gave into that man. But then again, that was the internal war you’d been fighting for the last few years anyway. And your heart won over your sensible brain every time. 

Deep down, you swore that no one knew Zeke the way you did nor did they get to see him in the same way you did. Although they were small pockets, fractions of milliseconds and the smallest crumbs one could offer to another—Zeke would sometimes let you in. In the moments when he’d joke with you in the morning about how you made his coffee, you would forget all the monikers that attached themselves to Zeke Yeager, and could only remember the way his eyes would crinkle when he’d smile at you. Could only remember his warmth. Could envision his sardonic humor that didn’t come at the cost of anyone but himself. You could only remember the good. 

You could manage seeing him one last time, couldn’t you? 

Zeke didn’t have to know that you missed him more than you could express over the past four years. He didn’t have to know you thought of him every time you made a cup of coffee because you’d hear his voice in your ear, feel his lips against your ear as he gave you a soft “thanks.” He didn’t have to know that you often reached out for the cold, empty space beside your bed, eyes watering while you did because you missed how he’d lull you back to sleep after a bad dream. He didn’t have to know that you worried about his life and sometimes made yourself sick when you thought of him dying, and that only his embrace could make things better. 

Zeke didn’t have to know shit because you weren’t going to tell him a thing.

You could put up a facade, give him the ‘goodbye’ he was looking for, and move on with your life. 

You opened the door with a heavy sigh. 

“There’s my girl,” he beamed and lifted his head up, making his glasses glint in the sunlight. 

You rolled your eyes upon hearing him say that and upon seeing his face. Zeke had a cigarette hanging loosely from his mouth the moment you opened the door, and was already readying up his match. You narrowed your eyes at him. He hummed when he caught your eye and remained unfazed while he searched for his lighter in his jacket. 

“I’m just as thrilled to see you, too. Did you know I skipped all the way over here?”

You ignored his sarcasm and folded your arms across your chest, pulling the blanket wrapped around you tighter for warmth. 

“Just...come in, Zeke.” 

He lit his cigarette first, cupping his hand over the flame to prevent it from going out too early. Mesmerized by the way he took a long drag from it, you couldn’t help but stare a little. When he caught you, he gave you a knowing smirk. He stared at the blanket wrapped around your shoulders, and raised a brow up at you. 

“Hm. You still have that thing?” 

You scoffed. That ‘thing’ he was referring to was a blanket he’d brought back for you years ago before the war in the Mid-East. You could still remember how your heart leapt when he first gave it to you. He wrapped it in brown paper and attempted to tie it up neatly with some string. He told you that it was Pieck’s idea, and that you should thank her for it—not him. Despite that, it was still the closest to sentimentality you ever got with him. 

You pulled the blanket up closer around you and played with the frayed ends of yarn as you did and began to speak.

“This is warm, and—” 

“You’re always cold,” Zeke finished for you while he looked around your place with a look you couldn’t decipher. “Yes, I know,” he said before whizzing past you without so much as a sideways glance. 

You closed the door behind you while Zeke took a seat on your couch. With weary eyes, you watched as he took another long drag from his cigarette, and tried your hardest to keep your distance from him as you sat down. 

“You look good,” was the first thing he said when he looked at you, making your heart flutter over the weak, simple praise. 

“Thank you…” you replied, voice wavering. 

Zeke’s eyes softened at the sound of your voice, but he said nothing, only continuing to smoke the rest of his cigarette in silence. As the quiet blanketed over the two of you, you couldn’t stop feeling the ache piercing through your chest the same way it would every time you were around him. The ache that came from the deepest part of your psyche, small and weak, and so desperate to be comforted. That pathetic part of you that wanted him to feel the same way about you as you did about him. That _silly_ little part of you that used to hold both hands out, grateful for the scraps of his love, if one could even call it that. 

You thought you had snuffed that out in yourself over the last four years. Thought that other lovers could extinguish the flame that Zeke lit in you. But in the mere presence of the man, you could feel the dying embers of that fire being stoked again. 

And he wasn’t doing anything except fucking **sitting** there. 

You wanted to ask how the war was but you knew it was a stupid question; the letters underneath your bed told it all. You wanted to ask him how _he_ was, but upon seeing the circles underneath his eyes, you knew that was a stupid question, too. You could practically hear the ‘pumpkin’ slipping from his lips the moment the thought entered your mind. So you didn’t say a word, opting for silence instead. 

“I have something to tell you,” Zeke finally spoke, bringing you out of your thoughts. 

Your head snapped towards him, watching as he finished the last of his cigarette. He paused when he caught your eye, looking around for a place to safely put the damn thing out, eyes dazzling in amusement when he saw an ash-tray sitting on your coffee table. You knew he was amused for two reasons. One, you didn’t smoke. Two, you claimed he was the only person in the world that you ever dated who _did_. 

“What do you have to tell me?” you asked as he crushed his cigarette down in the tray. 

“I forgot to tell you in my letters,” he said, waving his hand and dismissing it in the air. “But I know who I want to be my successor. Decided on it in the middle of war if you can believe that.” 

Zeke kept his voice casual and calm, speaking as if he were telling you about the weather and not about who would inevitably devour him in a year from now. Your heart fell as you thought about it. You tried to keep your voice unaffected despite feeling the walls around your heart crumbling. 

“Who?” 

“Colt,” Zeke replied. “Falco’s brother, I’m sure you remember him.”

You gulped and nodded as the air began to leave your lungs. Although Zeke was still speaking, you heard nothing of his dronings while a rush of blood surged through your ears, making them pound. Zeke had an official successor. Meaning it wouldn’t be long before the hourglass ran out on your time with him. The invisible threat that always loomed over your relationship and prevented it from being something real was here. And Zeke was telling you about it like it was nothing. Nothing to him. And nothing to you. 

“Good kid,” he scratched at his beard absentmindedly, continuing. “Throws one hell of a fast ball, too. Though he’s not as good as Er—” 

You cut him off with a choked sob, immediately regretting the sound as it tumbled out of your chest. And as soon as the tears spilled from your eyes, you felt the couch dip as Zeke moved to sit by you, pulling you into his chest with one arm. Desperately, you clung to his shirt with your fists, hating yourself for being so openly vulnerable for a man who didn’t feel the same way about you. Hated yourself for still giving a damn about him. Hated the way he still made you hazy without trying. 

You blinked away your tears with fury as you inhaled his scent, hoping that the smell of tobacco and bergamot would never leave you. 

“Don’t waste your tears on me,” Zeke said as he languidly moved one hand down your back. “The way I look at it, the world is better off without people like me in it.” 

He spoke to you in a casual tone like you were a child having a tantrum, and he was your parent. 

It infuriated you so much that you started to hit his chest with meek, sad shoves with no avail. Zeke pulled you away from his chest and wiped your damp cheeks with the pads of his thumb while he looked at you with something that felt like tenderness in his eyes. He chuckled softly at you as he gazed at your red eyes and trembling lower lip. 

“I was never going to have a long life,” he said calmly, voice even and smooth. “You knew that, angel.”

You did know that. 

In fact, it was the promise of a short life that led you to spending **any** time with Zeke Yeager at all because you were certain it’d be a one time thing. 

You could remember it like it was yesterday; the flashbulb memory ever so lucid in your mind. 

Somehow, you had managed to sneak your way into a popular bar for Marley’s Warrior Unit. Neither you nor any of your friends had any business being there. Although soldiers frequently drank while underage, you weren’t a soldier. And you were just a year shy of being able to legally drink.

Vaulted back into the memory, you closed your eyes and inhaled his scent, thinking back to the first time you saw him.

*****

_“Aren’t you a little young for that?”_

_You wiped the acrid taste of beer off your lips, cringing at its bitterness and at the sting of alcohol dripping down your throat. With a whip of your head, you turned to meet a man older than you, eyes crinkling while he smiled at you. Not missing the band on his arm, you immediately knew he was an Eldian and tried to bring your focus back to your drink. The last thing you needed was to get involved with a soldier, no less a Warrior._

_“Are we going to be friends or foes?” the man continued, eyes following your every movement._

_“What?”_

_He laughed and took his glasses off so he could wipe them on his shirt. You noticed that without those obscuring his face, that the man in front of you had soft blue eyes that mirrored the sky. You hesitated._

_“I said, are we going to be friends or foes, pumpkin?” he asked as he put his glasses back on, punctuating each word slowly like you were a child._

_You coughed again, this time out of anger although you couldn’t hide the way the hairs on the back of your neck bristled when he cooed the pet name out at you. In a moment of unbridled annoyance, you couldn’t believe that the person in front of you_ — _an Eldian no less_ — _had so much cocky swagger and confidence to speak to a non-Eldian like that. Although you didn’t like how Eldians were treated in Marley and you didn’t prescribe to the way other people treated them, you couldn’t let him know that._

_“Neither. And don’t call me that.”_

_Unperturbed by your attitude, the man in front of you laughed again and sat down next to you at the bar._

_“Ah. So you couldn’t care less about all of this?” he gestured vaguely to the soldiers around him and you in various parts of the bar._

_“I never said that,” you stammered, unsure of how he was about to read you with such quickness._

_“No,” the man said cooly, his glasses glinting as he looked at you almost knowingly._

_The rest of his sentence, “you didn’t have to” was easily implied. Right after he said that, he began to light a cigarette up, making you frown. While you were no doctor, you couldn’t envision how the habit was healthy. Cigarette smoke always made you nauseous._

_If only you knew then that it’d become one of your favorite smells somewhere along the way._

_“Yes?” the man asked, noticing the way you glared at his lighter._

_“That can’t be good for you,” you said plainly, not caring how he’d feel about it._

_This got him to chuckle. He took a long drag from his cigarette, and plumes of smoke wisped out from his nose and mouth as he stared at you for a second too long._

_“It probably isn’t,” he responded, putting one hand in his pocket. He clicked his tongue and continued. “As luck would have it, my life won’t be that long anyway, sweetheart.”_

_You blinked away your confusion, half startled by how easily he accepted your criticism and the other half confused by the sincerity in this pet name compared to ‘pumpkin’. It lacked all the patronization that the first pet name did. This one_ — _‘sweetheart’_ — _held weight in it. It was tender. Almost somber, too, laced with emotions you couldn’t decipher. You’d later remember (and never forget) that this was the first time he ever called you sweetheart._

_He wasted no time introducing himself to you after that. And you spent that night talking to him, soon realizing that he was beyond intelligent. Naturally curious about everything, he asked you a lot of questions about yourself. In hindsight, you realized that was due to less of his interest in you, and more of a need to understand everything about you so you could never best him._

_And you shouldn’t have liked him._

_Should’ve disliked everything about him. From the ease with which he detached himself to sentimentality, his cold exterior, his almost sardonic way of speaking to everyone and everything as if they were dumber than him_ — _you should’ve really disliked Zeke Yeager. But there you were. Stupidly drawn to his persona, especially curious about the secretive way in which he spoke about_ **_everything_ ** _. Zeke acted like he was privy to more information than the rest of the world, and he was just waiting for everyone else to catch up to him. It was obnoxious and he was so...callous._

_You should’ve actually hated him._

_You should’ve hated the way his voice dripped with condescension when he called you ‘pumpkin’. You should’ve loathed the way the skin around his eyes crinkled when he smiled at you. You should’ve despised the way he tried to ask if he could see you again, dropping the invitation more like a command than a question. You shouldn’t have let him ‘pumpkin’ and ‘angel’ you all the way to the bathroom, allowing him to mutter the pet names into your ear while he buried himself to the hilt in you. You shouldn’t have let that smile take control of your heart over your head. You shouldn’t have let him pepper your skin with kisses, burning the memory of himself into you with every grazing of his lips. You shouldn’t have allowed yourself to see him again._

Oh, but you did. 

On and off. On and off. On and off. Over and over again, you let the man you should’ve hated from the start somehow convince you into loving him instead. Even though you wanted it to be a one time thing. 

And here you were again. 

Easily falling under his spell, entranced by his very presence; the same way you were when you first met him at the bar. 

It only took a few more strokes of his hand across your back before he eventually slotted his lips over yours in an effort to comfort you. And you melted into the kiss with aching ease, your mind battling with your heart as Zeke slipped his tongue in your mouth. You hated how you gave into him. Hated yourself for trembling when his fingers grazed over your thighs. Hated how easily you discarded your clothes for him. Hated yourself for the sigh of relief you let out when he bottomed out into your already dripping core. 

You hated yourself.

You hated that you sought solace in the monster who broke your heart. 

To the depths of your core, you hated that the person responsible for stamping out your fire was also the only one in the world who could set it ablaze. 

You couldn’t even stop the words from escaping your lips as Zeke filled you to the brim with himself, over and over again. 

Your heart had won over your head once more. And your fingers kept finding purchase in his shirt as you clung to him, whispering “I love you” even though you knew the feeling wasn’t reciprocal. 

* * *

**Four years ago** — **Mid-East, before the war.**

_“Oh, Zeke_ — _there were some people selling things on the street behind us. Do we have time to look?” Pieck asked dreamily as she turned on her heels to look back._

_“We have to return to the port soon, Pieck. Boats leave in about half an hour,” Zeke said as he looked at his pocket watch._

_He was weary about staying longer than he had to. After all, he, Porco, and Pieck were here to survey the area, not shop. The Mid-East would soon become a hostile place, unbeknownst to the host-city._

_“I won’t be long. There were some blankets I wanted to look at. I think they’re hand-made,” Pieck said, already walking back to her destination despite not being given explicit permission._

_It didn’t take long for Porco to chase after her while Zeke stood in the middle of the street with a frown. Not willing to let his soldiers part in foreign lands without him, it wasn’t long before he, too, followed behind the two of them._

_The markets in the Mid-East lined the streets much like markets in Marley did. Colorful tables and kiosks full of goods littered the sidewalks. From food, hand-made trinkets, clothes, shoes, and of course, blankets. Pieck moved faster than Porco and Zeke had ever seen her move before when she saw those blankets. And as Porco stood by and Pieck marveled at the colorful knitted fabrics before her, Zeke stood aside and lit up a cigarette, pondering._

_He meticulously combed over the colors, the feel, the fabric, the weight, and the length before tutting his tongue; unimpressed by what was being sold. None of these measured up to his desires. None of these were good enough for_ —

_“Are you looking for anything in particular?” the elderly woman in charge of the goods asked with a kind smile._

_Zeke dropped his barely smoked cigarette and put it out with the toe of his boot. He looked up at the sky for a second, then back to the ground._

_“Do you have heavier blankets than the ones here?” he gestured to the table, smoke still billowing from his nostrils._

_“I may have one in my shop. Let me go look for you.”_

_The older woman disappeared into the shop behind her at a whim, excited at the prospect of making more sales, and Zeke sighed. It wasn’t long before Pieck sidled up to him with her own desired blanket clutched in her arms. She hummed._

_“Where’s Porco?” Zeke asked, looking down at her._

_“Getting some food.”_

_He nodded in acknowledgement, and put one hand in his pocket as he waited for the old woman to return. When she did come back, she had a large, brown knitted blanket tucked under her armpit. It was noticeably larger than all the rest, as well as thicker._

_“Here you are. I hope you’ll like it,” the woman said with a smile._

_Before Zeke could respond, another customer called to her attention and the old woman ran off to accommodate them_ — _leaving him and Pieck to examine the blanket on their own. Zeke ran his fingers through the thick material, satisfied with the quality of this one above all the others. Apart from the color that he despised, it felt warm enough to the touch. Thick enough to cover a bed if needed. Good enough for_ — 

_“I think she’ll like this one a lot,” Pieck said after a beat of silence, interrupting him from his thoughts._

_Zeke paused. Then he laughed._

_Pieck always did know too much for her own good._

_“Precisely, Pieck,” he said with a chuckle._

* * *

You were always on Zeke’s fucking mind. 

Always. 

When he’d have a smoke by himself in the middle of the night, you were the only thing on his mind. From the moment he lit his cigarette, watched the flame dim, and smoked the thing down to a bud—he thought of you. Zeke would think of your face washed in the moonlight as he looked up at the sky. He’d stupidly wonder if you were looking up at the same thing as him, utterly unable to cope with the ease in which you brought out something so _sentimental_ in him. 

When he and the rest of his soldiers were in the middle of fighting, he’d think of you and wonder what you were doing. Were you nestled up in bed, wrapped up in that frayed knitted brown blanket you liked so much? He always resented that stupid gift more than you knew. Every time he tried to throw it out without your knowledge, he’d inevitably find it folded up on the bed again. He didn’t know if he hated you more for cherishing it so much, or himself more for giving you something so _crude_ , so _plain_ , so _simple_. 

When he had to bring his consciousness back to reality after transforming, he’d think of you then, too. Admittedly, these were the times sentimentality flew out the window. After all, he swore he wasn’t capable of it anyway. In the heat of the moment, searing hot from having been inside his Titan form, he’d think of you in his favorite way of thinking about you. With your lips parted, swollen, and glossy paired with those perfect fucking watery, needy eyes while you begged for him on your knees. It was sick, crude, and revolting to think of someone like you in those ways, especially considering it was the thought he’d run to in order to calm down. 

But Zeke was a sick, crude, and revolting individual. 

Why someone like you ever allowed someone like him to barrel into your life, he had no idea. 

Why someone as kind and as loving as you allowed yourself to love a monster like him, he couldn’t understand. 

You knew what he was. He had no shame in telling you what he was, who he was, what he did, and the life he was expected to lead. But you held no judgement for him, nor anyone else. You opened your heart for him, and he selfishly occupied the space because the foreign feelings you stirred in his heart were too hard to let go of. 

_“I love you,”_ you kept saying all night. 

Those three, utterly, stupidly _sentimental_ words kept falling from your swollen lips throughout the night as Zeke pistoned his hips into yours. And your tone was so desperate, loving, and full of want—so much so that it made his chest cave in. He couldn’t remember a time in his life when anyone spoke those words to him and meant it with the sincerity that you did. Not his parents nor his grandparents or anyone else put weight behind those words, and he was sure it was because they didn’t mean it. Love was a foreign feeling to him. Unknown territory. Uncharted waters. A mysterious land. But despite that, despite you fucking _knowing_ that, you gave it to him anyway. Your love came with no price and you never gave him the meanness that he deserved. Your love came hand-wrapped in a gentle bow befitting only to someone like you. 

Not **once** did he say those words to you in all his years of knowing you. 

In his mind, it was pointless. In the long run, it wouldn’t mean anything to you to know if he felt the same. He was going to die either way. And you’d be left all alone. 

What did it matter whether or not he loved you? 

He sighed and leaned back against the couch, eyes flickering down at you here and there while you slept. You shivered a bit in your sleep, mumbling some words to yourself. His hand dropped down to smooth some hair away from your face. You were no doubt having one of your strange (bad) dreams, something he’d come to know about many times throughout his years of knowing you. 

Zeke scrubbed a hand over his face, and pulled his pants up. He readjusted his glasses on his face, then started to look around the room for that ratty blanket you liked so much, no doubt discarded on the floor in the midst of everything. When he finally found it, he didn’t hesitate to wrap it over you, tucking in the sides so that there were no air pockets. His hand reached out to tuck loose strands of hair behind your ear while he studied your face, imprinting the image into his mind for the next time he’d need to calm down in the battlefield. 

This was probably going to be the last time he’d see you again. 

The festival was approaching, and everything he had worked so hard for was finally setting in motion. Once again, he would have to leave you behind in an effort to make the world a better place. A safer place. 

He meant what he said when he told you the world would be a better place without people like him in it. Most importantly, _your_ world would be better without him in it. No longer would you chase on his heels while he left you behind. No longer would you pour yourself into someone too selfish to pour back into you. You deserved a love fuller than what he was capable of giving you. A love that embraced you in every way. A love that wouldn’t leave you behind and still ask you for more at the same time. You deserved more. So much more that he simply couldn’t give to you. 

But the longer he stared at your face, the more Zeke could feel his resolve breaking.

Because it was never a matter of not wanting to give it to you. 

It was a matter of not being able to. 

It was a matter of not wanting to hurt you anymore than he already had. A matter of not wanting to leave you empty-handed because he had so little to give you in the first place. You always looked at him like he hung the stars and moons himself. And he hated that he didn’t. Because if he did (and if you asked for it), he’d steal those things back from the sky in an instant. 

Zeke gave your face one last, longing look and exhaled. He was sure. So sure that this would be the last time he’d ever see you again.

He supposed he could let his resolve break; **just this once, and never again.**

So with tender eyes and gentle, soft hands, Zeke leaned down to press his cheek against yours before giving you a sweet kiss.

You were too deep in slumber to hear a thing. But had you been awake you would’ve heard it. It'd be the eighth time in your life that Zeke would refer to you as ‘sweetheart’. Had you been awake, you would’ve finally figured out the meaning behind that pet name all along, too. 

Because for once, Zeke attached it to words that gave it the meaning he always intended for it to have.

“I love you, too, sweetheart,” he whispered softly against your cheek. 


	2. Chapter 2

Your cheek was pressed up against something soft when you woke up. Eyes still bleary from waking up, you reached out to touch the material and felt the soft cotton of your pillows against the pads of your fingertips. Stirring a little more now, you could feel the weight of someone next to you, too. You were sure the moment you rolled over, Zeke would be sitting up in bed, either reading or smoking. He was always up earlier than you, and this was his favorite morning activity apart from one other thing. You turned. 

“How did I get here?” 

“You picked up sleepwalking overnight and carried yourself to bed,” he said, not looking away from his book. 

Used to his sarcasm, you tried not to crack a smile at his joke and shut your eyes so you wouldn’t give into him the way you always did. He lifted his brows up at this and hummed. 

“I tried to stop you,” Zeke continued. “But you were adamant.” 

With eyes to his book then back down to you, he waited for you to answer. But when you didn’t move, he kept pressing on. 

“You may want to get that sorted out while I’m gone,” he finished. 

Although you knew he was joking, it was hard to ignore the sting that sentence gave you. It was a direct pang to your heart, and the last thing you wanted to think about. You had just gotten him back. You didn’t want to think about him being gone, however long that meant. What you wanted to focus on was the fact that you could still feel the weight of your favorite brown blanket over your shoulders, no doubt brought up along with you when Zeke carried you upstairs. You wanted to focus on the fact that your bed was no longer empty, and that it was filled with the weight of the person who occupied it best. 

With a heavy sigh, you exhaled and looked back up at him. 

“Thank you for taking me back to bed,” you whispered, reaching your hand out to rest on his thigh.

Zeke’s eyes softened upon your touch. Although he didn’t tear his gaze away from his book, he placed his hand over yours and gave it a gentle squeeze. Still tired and weary from the previous night with him, you continued to rest your head on your pillow while he ran his thumb back and forth over your hand—eyes still fixed on his book.

“What are you reading?” you mumbled into the pillow. 

“Nothing you’d find interesting,” he replied, voice sounding bored. 

You held in your eye roll. While he wasn't trying to be rude towards you, you knew what that meant. “Nothing you’d find interesting” meant “nothing that concerns you” in Zeke’s language. It was more than likely stuff regarding the war, Eldians, Titans, and other things he didn’t want you to know about. Truth be told, you didn’t want to know anything about it anyway. 

It’d done enough damage to your life already and you didn’t even have to go to war.

“Are you hungry?” you asked, trying to change the subject. 

You could hear the sound of him turning the page, pausing for a moment before he spoke again. 

“Sure,” he said after a while. 

He chuckled to himself as he dogeared a bookmark for himself, then placed his book onto the nightstand. Still dazed and sleepy, you blinked up at him.

“What do you want to eat?” 

Not bothering to answer you as you rattled off potential breakfasts, Zeke adjusted his glasses before removing them completely, folding them up to place them on top of his book. He shifted down so he could lie down. 

“—I think I have eggs,” you continued, not paying any mind to his movements as he pulled you into his chest. 

“That’s _all_?” he asked mockingly as his fingers teasingly traveled up your thigh in slow motion.

Your breath hitched in your throat and you tried to brace yourself against his chest while he stared you down. 

“Um, I also have—” you yelped as two fingers moved between your thighs, rubbing up and down your slit, his fingertip barely grazing over your clit.

“Oh, _pumpkin_ ,” he emphasized the word as he pressed down on your sensitive bundle of nerves. 

His voice was dripping with condescension and you finally understood that he didn’t give a shit about actual food. Despite that, he didn’t break his ruse. 

“I’m starting to think you don’t have **any** food in your house,” he tutted. 

You squirmed as your traitorous hips began to buck against his hand, hoping for more friction and movement while he teasingly played with your clit in his fingers. The gleam in his eyes was predatory and arrogant, fully aware of what he was doing to you, and you made it so _easy_. There were lots of things that Zeke cherished when it came to you but none more than how easily you gave into him. It was a personal victory whenever he would slip his hands between your legs just to feel your slick juices coating his fingers. It didn’t matter the occasion, although he did particularly love when you were angry at him. You could be red in the face and ready to rip his head off, but your body was more honest than you could ever try to be, and he fucking relished in that. 

“I suppose—” he drawled out casually as he curled his middle finger up into you with ease, making you whimper, “I’ll have to starve this morning. Can’t say I’m too pleased about that.” 

You tried to answer his stupid teasing with a sentence but couldn’t once he added his ring finger inside your dripping core, curling and scissoring his fingers just the way he knew you liked it. 

“I wonder how you can make this up to me.”

Despite the faux derision laced in his tone, you knew he was playing with you. It was a game, as most things were to Zeke. With the warmth radiating off his body and his hard-on heavy against your thigh, you knew he was close to breaking at any moment. All you had to do was edge him back just the same. 

“I’m—” you gasped when he pressed down on your clit with his thumb, rubbing in lazy, slow circles. 

“Use your words, _angel_ ,” he taunted without malice, knowing full well you couldn’t speak when you were getting fucked dumb by his fingers alone. 

You could feel his erection growing against your thigh, unable to stop your hips from moving on their own accord as you grinded against his hand, lips full of moans, whimpers and his name. You didn’t know it, but it was music to his ears. Another thing to add to his memories for when he needed to calm down on the battlefield and remember better times. Fingers curled up against your sensitive walls, Zeke could feel you reaching your peak with every movement as you clamped down and twitched around his fingers. He growled at this and sped up his movements with relentless speed. 

“What happened to using your words, hm?” he asked, voice almost sickeningly sweet now. 

You shut your eyes in full bliss as your orgasm approached, seeing nothing but stars in your vision and feeling dizzy with the overwhelming sensation growing in the pit of your stomach. You knew exactly what he wanted. It wasn’t just any string of words either. You didn’t even have to say it with a full sentence as the singular word was fine enough for him. While it seldom slipped from your mouth, it didn’t change the way Zeke would lose all semblance of self-control and give into you. Always the one to have the upper hand over you, you often held this word—this one precious word to him—over his head as your own form of control. Feeling your body getting weak and tensing up, you gazed into his nearly blown out eyes—pupils so dark you could hardly see the rim of blue in them—and uttered the words you knew he wanted to hear.

 _You’d do it_ **_just this once, then never again_** , you told yourself. 

“Please, daddy,” you whispered. 

The utterance of this one single word was all it took for Zeke to move his hand faster, thumb rubbing furious concentric circles around your clit as he whispered praises into your ear about what a _good girl_ you were for him and telling you how _pretty_ you looked when you came. You heaved into the crook of his neck, panting and shaking from your orgasm—body still twitching from Zeke’s now slower movements as he worked his fingers out of you. Slowly, he held up his fingers, soaked and slicked with your juices in front of your face. He chuckled at your facial expression and brought them into his mouth without hesitation. 

“Good girl,” he praised again, making your heart flutter. 

He didn’t hesitate to flip you onto your back, leaning down to give you a searing kiss, cock fully-erect and twitching against your pelvic bone now. You hooked your legs around his waist, bringing him even closer to you, heart still fluttering and full from his earlier praises. 

Sure, you hated giving into him sometimes. You hated yourself for giving in so easily to _him_. But you always did it anyway, didn’t you? While you didn’t like to hand-deliver his favorite word to him with so much ease, you had to admit that you did like what came with it. The sense of desperation, the urgency, and the absolute _need_ to wreck you—for you to wreck _him_ —you liked that a lot. 

You supposed you could put your pride aside and whisper his favorite word to him continuously in the morning if it meant you’d be showered in praise alongside the usual orgasm. 

So it shouldn’t have surprised you when you whispered the word into his ear one more time, and he growled in response, throwing your legs over your shoulder.

It shouldn’t have surprised you that you had the _longest_ morning ever as Zeke swiveled his hips into yours over and over again in a tantalizingly slow pace, pulling orgasm after orgasm from you all because of one simple word. 

It was unfair how much power he held over you, and you already went through the cycle of self-hatred from the previous night before and didn’t need to go through it again. Although your chest burned from the inside out every time you professed your love for him and he didn’t say it in return, sometimes, you thought that _these_ moments made up for it. That the moments where he fell apart for you and _from_ you were worth slightly more than those three words that he’d never say to you. 

It felt like _something._

Maybe that was why you always let him come back to you with as much ease and grace as you did. 

Because it really did feel like something with him. And while Zeke didn’t say what you wanted to hear, you swore you heard it in between hurried touches in the dark and lazy strokes in the mornings. 

Maybe he didn’t love you in return. 

Maybe you really were wasting your time. 

But there was a tenderness in the way he’d stare down into your eyes as he drove himself in and out of you, and you swore that _something_ lied in there.

And something had to be better than nothing.

Right? 

* * *

By the time the two of you had finished round three, it was the afternoon. When your stomach grumbled, you finally admitted to Zeke that you had no food in the house. After a bit of admonishing from him and an off-hand joke about how you needed to learn how to take care of yourself, he left to get some food for the two of you from a local restaurant. 

Now the two of you were back to sitting in silence in your kitchen as you ate your respective meals. It was hardly awkward between the two of you; but comfortable, friendly, and familiar. It was the kind of silence one could only slip into with someone else over time. 

If you were being honest, it felt domestic. 

But you knew you were asking for too much to label it something like that. 

“I have to leave after this,” Zeke said sternly, breaking the silence. “I have a meeting to attend.” 

You chewed on your food slowly. You had braced yourself for this from the moment you saw him. When he wasn’t being tender with you, he was _this_. Distant, cold, and in a different stratosphere from you; one you couldn’t reach and one he didn’t want you to reach. Although you’d grown used to it, it never got easier. 

You sighed and put your fork down. 

“Okay,” you finally said as you got up from the table, hoping your disappointment wasn’t evident. 

Zeke kept his eyes trained on you as you began to clean up, keeping your back turned to him while you washed the dishes. He let out a soft sigh. From the way you stood and held your shoulders together, he knew he was doing **it** once again. The sad thing was he wasn’t even trying to hurt you. Although he could be mean, he wasn’t intentional with it when it came to you shy of taunting you in bed. This was just the way it was. Above all else, even you, he had goals beyond the scope of your world—even his. 

He let out another exhale and scratched at his beard as he tried to think of what to say to you, but luckily you spoke before he did. 

“You left one of your baseballs here,” you mumbled as you tried not to let your tears fall. 

“Hm,” was all he said in response. 

Silence fell for a moment before he spoke again. 

“I should teach you how to throw it,” he said. 

You dropped a plate down into the sink. 

“What?” you asked almost out of breath and confused. 

Zeke adjusted his glasses and stood up to stand next to you. He grabbed a nearby towel and began to dry your hands off with it. 

“I am going to teach you how to throw a baseball, pumpkin,” he said slowly. “We can play a game of catch.” 

You froze in place while Zeke helped you wash the last dish, immobilized by his sudden need to...stay. Not only did he never play catch with you, but he rarely stayed this long. It was alarming, in a sense, and you weren’t sure what to make of it. All of a sudden, the invisible hourglass of a year loomed over your head like a dark cloud and your stomach dropped. Although you wanted to ask if everything was okay, Zeke beat you to speaking as he dried his own hands off and smiled at you. 

“So. Where’s that ball?” 

* * *

“Put your arm into it,” Zeke said as he watched you throw the baseball with amateur effort. 

“It’s harder than it looks,” you pouted while you watched the baseball fall no less than one foot in front of you despite your best attempts. 

For once, Zeke tried to hide how amusing he found the entire situation. It was endearing, your efforts. You were trying so hard, and not once could you throw the ball close to him or anywhere near him. Even when he stood behind you and guided your hands for you, your throws were similar to a child’s. But even that wasn’t a fair comparison as he knew children who could throw curve balls better than you could probably toss a feather. Despite that, he was nothing but patient with you, showing you a tenderness you often only saw in between the sheets. 

“I think you’re getting the hang of it,” he encouraged as he tossed the ball back to you with less force than he would to anyone else. 

You grinned. 

“I’m trying,” you said. 

You tried not to admit you were mainly trying for him. Baseball was his greatest love apart from his work. You never saw him as happy as you did than when he was playing catch or talking about baseball. Although he used to say it was a useless hobby, you thought it was more than that. You could see the visible joy in his eyes, even from you simply trying to engage in it with him. 

“See,” Zeke said as he watched you attempt to throw your next pitch. 

Before he could attempt to praise you again, he heard something whizzing past his ear, only able to see a whirl of white out of the corner of his eye. He looked at the baseball on the floor, then back to you. You were holding your hands up to your mouth in an attempt to hide your embarrassment. 

“Sorry,” you squeaked. 

“Give me a warning the next time you want to take my head off,” he said. 

You grinned again at this, actually bursting into a fit of laughter, and Zeke actually gave you a smile in return. He threw his glove down onto the floor, and picked up the ball you’d inadvertently hurled towards his head. Walking over to you with an expression you couldn’t read, you waited for the inevitable sarcasm he was sure to throw your way but it never came. He held up the ball at you with pride before pulling you into a side hug, lips smiling against your temple. 

“Good job.” 

You hummed in excitement as a response, and once again, Zeke found your excitement as something to value. While you didn’t know it, he found every attempt from you sweet. Every laugh you let out when you failed was something to treasure. Every smile you gave him when he told you that your efforts were better than the last one was worth it.

It was almost better than the memories he wanted to save of you. These memories triumphed over the other ones by a mile. Sure, he could imagine you fucked out in bed when he wanted to calm down. Nothing was difficult about that, and it worked all the same. 

But this moment in particular felt different. This moment was better than imagining you in such a _simplistic, barbaric_ way. Ironically, this moment was just as simple to him as having sex with you. Teaching you how to play catch—something he could do in his sleep—was so simple, he was surprised he never tried to do it before. It was such a meaningless task to him, he never thought to ask you to do it with him let alone teach you. 

He would remember this image forever. His body could separate from reality and he could lose all consciousness, but he would never forget this moment and no one could take it away from him. The next time he needed to find his anchor in the battlefield, he’d think of _this_ . You, standing in the yard with him as the wind blew your hair away in wisps—tossing a baseball back to him with so much joy and **love** in your face. 

Zeke wasn’t sure why it meant so much to him, and he had no time to decipher it anyway. He wasn’t sure it mattered at the end of the day so he didn’t seek the answers. 

All he knew was that this simple, stupid moment was more important to him than any other moment he’d ever shared with you. 

Playing catch was you was something he didn't even think about in his dreams nor his waking reality until now. 

But as you tossed the ball back to him with a smile, this time away from his head, Zeke could feel something stirring inside his chest that he never thought of before. He didn't want to waste time wondering what it all meant, and he was still so sure that it didn't matter much anyway.

He didn't have the word for what he felt. 

All he knew was this—if and when he was given the chance again—he'd play catch with you ten thousand times over if possible. 

You wouldn't even have to ask. 

Maybe, he thought to himself, he'd even let you throw it at his head next time. 

He chuckled as he thought of the glee you'd have over being given permission to do this. 

_Yes,_ he thought. 

Until next time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mini companion piece to the original first story. I think I'll add mini companion pieces to each one-shot installment. I think of them more as pairs to the story rather than separate chapters if that makes sense, as I really do believe the stories end beautifully where they are in their original one-shot form. 
> 
> Anyway! Enjoy the daddy kink 😂
> 
> For more updates for when the next installments are, feel free to follow me on [tumblr](https://love-dontbeshy.tumblr.com/).

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a one-shot for that fucking monkey (in the words of Levi). Also a super hard character to write for, but I enjoyed exploring his mind nonetheless. An edit: I have to clarify something—the reader is under the legal drinking age but she is NOT underage. When I wrote this, i imagined her age being 19-20, while the drinking age is 21. Zeke is only slightly older than her. 
> 
> Enjoy. ❤️
> 
> If you'd like to know when the next installment of this one-shot series will be updated, feel free to follow me on my new [tumblr](https://love-dontbeshy.tumblr.com/). This is really just a place to shoot the shit/talk AOT.


End file.
